Happiness
by whatthefoucault
Summary: The further adventures of Dan Ashcroft and Jonatton Yeah?: a long weekend of shenanigans, following the events of Bump.  Rated M for some adult themes and sexy situations.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Nathan Barley and its characters are owned by Brooker and Morris. If they could see what I've done to these characters, they'd probably lynch me.

**A/N**: I felt like it was time to unleash some further Dan and Jonatton adventures upon the world. You really ought to have read Bump before you start to read this. Enjoy!

Jonatton Yeah? was nursing a headache the size of south Oxfordshire. It was his own fault, of course, but to be fair, that sexy little bottle of Cab Sauv was practically begging for it last night. And Cab Sauv had led to Jack Daniels, and Jack Daniels had led to Dan Ashcroft, and Dan Ashcroft had led to Jonatton being fucked into his sofa so hard he could barely walk to the bed to pass out afterwards. It had been a damn good night.

New issue was ready that day. Sasha's concern was unfounded, he thought; Sugar Ape was no stranger to controversy, after all. He was used to sneering at interviewers who liked to use words like "crass" and "wholly inappropriate" and rolling his eyes at the kinds of hipsters and art-farts who thought that a picture of Tony Blair's head pasted onto the body of a pig being buttfucked by another pig was, like, well fucking political and shit. And this, well. This was not even controversial: he would be inwardly miffed if it were, admittedly. This, he thought, was a mere giggle.

As for why Sasha was so concerned about it, of all things, Jonatton was truly puzzled. She usually could not be bothered to bat a disapproving eyelash at the magazine's shenanigans. She did seem, however, to regard Dan in particular with a kind of apologetic almost non-apathy. Perhaps, thought Jonatton, she fancied Dan. Jonatton hoped that Sasha did not fancy Dan. Jonatton fancied Dan, of course; Jonatton was in love with him. And Dan loved Jonatton, as far as Jonatton could tell. Dan was, it was painfully clear, not one to say so, but there was a tacit understanding there, no matter how much Jonatton may have hoped for confirmation – _some_ confirmation, a word, something. As for Sasha, though: Sasha was lovely, with her nice hair and her mildly condescending indifference. Jonatton was not entirely sure that Dan could not be so easily swayed. All Jonatton had had to do was buy him a few pints and put a sympathetic hand to his genitals, after all.

But Dan was also preciously clueless, and unless Sasha decided to grab him by the testes and ply him with a bottle of vodka, he would be unlikely to notice. Or maybe Jonatton was thinking too hard because his head was subject to a jackhammering hangover throb and the ringing in his ears just kept getting louder and it took something of a Herculean effort to look at things and maintain his workplace composure. That was why Jonatton wished Dan would hurry the fuck up with his coffee. He contemplated rifling through his desk drawers for that emergency bottle of Nurofen he knew well was in there somewhere, but instead rested his forehead on the edge of his desk, willing the throbbing to slow and diminish of its own volition. He finally sat up, and allowed himself to smile a little when he saw Dan striding grumpily into his office.

"What's this?" demanded Dan, tossing a magazine onto Jonatton's desk. Jonatton raised an eyebrow.

Sasha decided she would skip her exercise that morning. The pilates ball sat in the opposite corner of the room, mocking her as she chewed her morning slice of low-GI malt loaf. The pilates ball could fuck right off, she thought. The couple in the flat upstairs had spent a good three hours very loudly fighting that night, and then another four screwing even louder. Perhaps an anonymous gift of a nice, new, very mute mattress was in order? That would be overstepping, surely. She could live without sleep.

But she looked fine, getting dressed was fine, the ride to work was fine, and the new issue was in, so she took a cursory flip-through at her desk as her computer booted up, and it was fine, at least by Sugar Ape standards, which were minimal at best.

Then she got to the contributors' page.

Fuck, shit, fucking, shitting, what the _fuck_, Jonatton? He was _so_ going to get glared at when he got in that morning.

When Jonatton shuffled in looking like the walking dead, Sasha surmised he must have been on no sleep too. No, she stopped herself. Eww. That brought about a mental visual Sasha could very readily have done without. She was usually less fazed than this. Fucking neighbours and their fucking... fucking, she thought.

"Morning Sash, you look gorgeous, etcetera," yawned Jonatton as he approached her desk.

"No I don't, Jonatton, was that _thing_ on the contributors' page your idea?" she glared at him as best as she could, but suspected it came out as a sleepy squint.

"Course it was," shrugged Jonatton. "Think it's a bit, you know, meow?"

"Does Dan know?" she sighed.

"Well, he is an active contributor," sneered Jonatton. "I think he's noticed."

"Oh," she said quietly, as Jonatton shuffled onward to his office.

It did not seem that long ago that Dan was almost sort of asking her for a date, she thought. Jonatton fucking Yeah?, though. Climbing to new lows, aren't we Dan, she thought. Christ.

But then again, how was it any business of hers anyway, thought Sasha. Sasha did not fancy Dan, after all. She liked him, of course; he was nice, and arguably smarter than anyone else they worked with. But he was a definitely a bit _weird_, and did not seem to own a single article of clothing that was not in some way damaged. Then there was that incident with the pub and the builder and the gardening gloves that he swore was all a complete fabrication, but the fact that he spent the next few weeks shiftily avoiding eye contact with anyone in the office seemed to indicate otherwise. So she worried about him, to be sure, in that way that you do worry about someone who's nice but probably drinks too much and never seems to have any money, but she most certainly did not fancy Dan at all.

Except she did. Oh great. Of course she fancied Dan, how irritatingly predictable. Unless she just thought she did, in light of new information, in the same way that one might covet a colleague's new scarf, but realistically would never wear it oneself. Or maybe she just thought she did because he was nice to her. This was stupid, she thought. How the hell are you supposed to tell the difference?

Sasha decided it would be a good time to eat that muffin she had stashed somewhere in her desk, and give the matter no further thought.

Then Dan shuffled in, wearing the same outfit he had had on the day before, and possibly the day before that. Classy. Yep, she _definitely_ did not fancy him. Thank God for that.

Office romance was the kind of bullshit that brought with it a plethora of unnecessary hassles, drama, uncomfortable sideways glances from colleagues, secret workplace betting pools trying to figure out who's topping whom, and so forth; that is to say, just the kind of bullshit thing that Dan Ashcroft did not like his job nearly enough to consider putting up with, no matter how much he liked fucking Jonatton Yeah?. Or rather, no matter how much he _loved_ Jonatton Yeah?, if he was to be completely honest with himself.

Yeah, love. Thinking that word still carried a pang of weird that was nearly impossible to shake. Tongues were already wagging at Sugar Ape headquarters like the floppy tails on a kennel of especially dim-witted puppies - thanks, no doubt, to Jonatton's persistent habit of leaving "anonymous" gifts on Dan's desk, ranging from a classic bouquet of lilies to that glow-in-the-dark butt plug (whose phosphorescence, it turned out, made it too creepy for actual night-time shenanigans, to boot) - but Dan, wanting more than anything not to do anything to draw the attention of that gaggle of idiots he was sad to call his colleagues, had been taking measures to keep his private life at least a little bit, well, private. On the mornings when he and Jonatton would arrive at the office together (having woken up together in the same bed, eaten breakfast in the same kitchen, and brushed and flossed in front of the same bathroom mirror) Dan would kindly offer to pick them both up a coffee on the way in, and meet Jonatton at the office.

Thus, that morning, Dan clompity-clomped up the steps of the Sugar Ape offices with a coffee in each hand.

"Morning Dan," said Sasha, with what Dan felt was a considerably more apologetic smile than was necessary, even if it _was_ New Issue Day.

"Morning Sasha," nodded Dan, with a curtly amiable nod.

Sasha seemed to be eyeing him carefully, as though she were trying very hard to determine whether or not to say something further.

"What?" he demanded.

"Have you... seen the new issue, then?" she said, with an apologetically upturned eyebrow. Now Dan was frightened.

"What," he tiredly ventured, not sure he was keen on knowing the answer.

"I just didn't know you were..." she began. "I mean it's fine, obviously, of course, but..."

"What are you talking about?" puzzled Dan.

"Contributors' page," she said, handing over a copy of the new issue. "I kind of thought you had _standards_, Dan."

Dan flipped, and flipped, and flipped, and then stopped. Then he read. Then he understood.

"Right," he nodded. "I'll be in Jonatton's office."


	2. Chapter 2

"What's this?" demanded Dan, tossing the magazine onto Jonatton's desk. Jonatton raised an eyebrow.

"New issue, etcetera?" ventured Jonatton.

"No, what's _this_?" Dan demanded again, picking up the magazine and reading aloud: "'Jonatton Yeah? is a contributing editor of Sugar Ape Magazine. He lives in London and is fucking Dan Ashcroft.' Jonatton, what the hell?"

Jonatton shrugged. "I am, aren't I?" he said. "And look, now you're out. Congratulations, etcetera?"

"Yes, but," Dan began, considering his words carefully, "this is a really creepy way of going about it. Did it occur to you that maybe I wasn't ready?"

"That, and that you probably never would be without a bit of help. Is that my coffee?" asked Jonatton, eyeing the paper cup Dan had forgotten was in his other hand.

"Oh, uhh, yeah," muttered Dan, setting it down on the desk.

"Thanks pet. Thing is," said Jonatton, pulling the lid from his drink, "I couldn't put 'Jonatton Yeah? lives in London with Dan Ashcroft,' because, you know, I don't?"

"Why'd you have to put anything?" asked Dan.

"Oh, I don't know," Jonatton rolled his eyes, taking a long, dramatic sip of his latte. "Maybe it's because you're important to me?"

Oh. Right. That almost made sense, thought Dan. In a way, it was almost sweet, in a completely misguided, wholly inappropriate sort of way that made Dan really hope his parents did not read the magazine he wrote for. Maybe, if he was really lucky, his parents could have forgotten the name of the magazine altogether. Maybe they thought he wrote for the _Weekend on Sunday_. That would be acceptable. When next they called, he would tell them he was writing for the _Weekend on Sunday_.

"So," Jonatton continued undaunted. "Henley Regatta, you in?"

"You want me to write a review of Henley Regatta?" asked Dan, unconvinced.

"I've signed you up for a rowing team," said Jonatton, rubbing idly at his temples. "Do a couple of races, then write about it."

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," said Dan, shaking his head. "No. Just no."

"Kidding, _obviously_. I'm inviting you down, stupid?" said Jonatton, sipping his coffee, pausing with a look of irritatingly seductive relief as he let the restorative fluid work its way through him. "Look, I know some people with a house on the river who've asked us round for the weekend. Might be a laugh, might be fucking hilarious?"

"What's the dress code?" asked Dan.

Jonatton gave the question considerable consideration, screwing his face up in a thoughtful pout.

"Casual summertime gay?" he suggested.

"Fine," shrugged Dan.

"So we'll head down after I've picked up the new car, about six, pet?" asked Jonatton.

Dan was still uncertain where the conversation had moved from how angry he was at Jonatton's little stunt on the contributors page, to his agreeing to a very extended weekend watching boats with some of Jonatton's no doubt horrible acquaintances in a town that would no doubt be crawling with irritating people with giant stupid feathers in their hair and ugly jackets and names like Bunty and Stiffy. Dan was uncertain how anything happened when Jonatton was involved. Jonatton had this uncanny way of making Dan not mind things. It was unnerving when he thought about it too hard, so he gave a terse nod, and carried his coffee back to his desk.

"Hey, Ashcroft!" shouted Rufus Onslatt, as Dan sat down at his desk. "So you're doing sex with Jonatton, yeah? That is well gay."

"Yeah, that is well gay?" nodded Ned Smanks. "Congratulations and shit, you know, on having sex?"

"Umm, sure," muttered Dan. "Thanks?"

Rufus looked as though he was thinking very hard of something clever to say, but Dan had a flash of inspiration. He fully intended on winning this conversation.

"Have you seen that new game on trashbat?" he asked the lads, deadpan. "It's called Never Speak To Dan Ashcroft Ever Again. Trust me, it's fun."

And then he glared at them until they skulked off awkwardly. That went well, he thought. So what if he was in a relationship? Whoop dee fucking doo. Ned and Rufus probably thought it was well fucking, fucking, or whatever. Dan would not have been surprised if those two started getting off with each other because they thought it was cool. The mental visuals were as disconcerting as they were unseemly.

At some point, and somewhat to his dismay, Jonatton had found that there was something strangely unboring about folding fresh sweetcorn and parsley into a large bowl of marinating red quinoa; it should have been boring, after all, but it was quite a nice feeling, it turned out. This probably meant, he thought, that _he_ was becoming boring. Not that doing a line of coke off an attractive drunk's sweaty chest in an obnoxiously cool dive bar's toilets or fucking five sexy randoms a week had been especially interesting, after a time. Doing that every week, it turned out, at some point became just as dull and perfunctory as doing a sudoku puzzle every lunch hour and coming home to eat the same beans on toast as you ate every day while watching _Countdown_. This whole quinoa salad thing, it turned out, was serene, and he was good at it. A dash more cinnamon, and he folded in the sultanas and pine nuts. It would go over well at Henley.

Liz and Jez raved about the quinoa salad, the last time he brought it to their home.

Jonatton surveyed the contents of his cooler bag. All so very middle-class, he thought. Very Marks and Spencer. This may have been because he had _been_ to Marks and Spencer. Seafood sandwich assortment, mini scotch eggs - which, truthfully, he found quite creepy - tiny pork pies, tiny sausages, some kind of salad and shit, bottle of lemon fucking barley water. Liz and Jez would no doubt enjoy the shit out of these things, he thought. He gave his quinoa salad one final stir before clamping a lid on and nestling it snugly inside the cooler.

He had selected his attire carefully, as well: it was not often he felt the need to impress friends or associates, but this was different. This was not one of his usual haunts, and these people had not met Dan. He wondered what they would think of Dan, how badly he could embarrass himself, and how much, for once, he hoped it would not happen. This was a big weekend.

As he zipped up the cooler bag and made for the door, pocketing his car keys from the entrance side table, it occurred to him that he had neglected to mention to Dan what he had traded in for. Jonatton allowed himself a small smile.


	3. Chapter 3

Dan squinted, letting his overnight bag slip out of his stunned hands and fall to the ground with an unceremonious thud. He was not quite sure what he was looking at. It was yellow, and smallish, and had two seats, and no roof. He took a long drag on his cigarette, exhaling extra slowly.

"Jonatton," he said, the smoke lingering in the air about him as he considered his next question. "What the hell is this thing?"

"Our new car, etcetera?" said Jonatton, opening the passenger door for Dan. "Porsche 911… something."

As far as Dan could tell, there had been nothing wrong with Jonatton's old car, apart, apparently, from the fact that it was not stupid enough.

Dan eyed him suspiciously. "Can you even afford this?" he asked, hesitantly lowering himself into the seat. It was awkward. He assumed that in the roofless incarnation of this… thing, he must look like some kind of aged, grumpy-faced bizarro version of Noddy. This was a decidedly unappealing prospect.

"It was lightly used," shrugged Jonatton, climbing into the driver's seat. "Think they might have found a dead body in the boot?"

All the colour drained instantly from Dan's face, running out over the floor and dripping onto the pavement. "What did you say?"

"They _cleaned_ it, of course," Jonatton rolled his eyes, turning the key in the ignition.

"You can't be serious," Dan cringed, shifting in his seat as Jonatton pulled out into the road.

"No, I'm not," said Jonatton, shifting gears.

"I really just don't see the appeal," Dan shrugged uncomfortably, as they drove on. "It's yellow, for fuck's sake. Why couldn't you just get a normal car?"

"Because this one has a sport button?" offered Jonatton.

"Oh, okay," nodded Dan. "Wait, what's a sport button?"

"It's basically a sex button?" offered Jonatton.

"Right," nodded Dan, poking the glove box. "Jonatton, what the hell does that even mean?"

And then Jonatton pushed the sport button.

That did seem to make a difference, thought Dan. It certainly felt as though they were going slightly faster than they probably were. It felt quite good, actually – even if the absence of a roof made it far too windy for him to smoke. It was like a primal sense of power that radiated from his core. Part of that, he discovered, may have been because Jonatton's left hand had quietly moved from the gear shift to Dan's upper thigh. Dan willed him not to stop paying attention to the road. Dan tried to pay attention to the road too. Jonatton's hand hovering in dangerous proximity to Dan's penis was making this increasingly difficult. Jonatton turned to Dan when they slowed at a roundabout, and said, with a cheeky wink:

"Well, what do you think?"

"Yep," nodded Dan, clearing his throat. "Nice… handling?"

"You're nursing a semi, aren't you?" Jonatton smirked.

Dan maintained quiet eye contact with the dashboard.

"I'm pretty much at full attention," he mumbled.

Jonatton grinned. "Want me to find someplace I can pull in... etcetera?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

Dan sighed. "Yeah," he nodded quietly.

Dan was quite quiet for the remainder of the journey following their little sport button interlude, watching the scenery roll gently past. Jonatton positively beamed with the kind of satisfaction that came from a job well done. If Jonatton knew anything about Dan at all, he certainly knew his way around Dan's cock. He knew how to apply just the right amount of pressure, how to set the right pace, how to swallow Dan down and make him whimper and beg, how to make him forget that they were in a somewhat secluded carpark in a very conspicuous car that Dan was hopefully now convinced was a sound investment after all.

Arriving in Henley, it seemed to Jonatton that it was all rather idyllic in the quiet of the early evening: to one side of them were all the little shops, Cafe Something, Whatever Tea Rooms, Blahblahblah Boutique, The Crown and Kebab, The Kebab and Elephant, restaurants that charged ten quid for a plate of tarted-up chips and called themselves something enigmatic like Zinc or Lard or Eat This Fucking Food; to the other side was a gently flowing Thames, populated only, as far as he could tell, by an older lady rowing her husband about in a rather pokey little boat. The calm before the storm, he mused, but there was no doubt in his mind that this weekend would be _quite_ hilarious.

"So what exactly do we do at Henley?" asked Dan.

"Look at boats, etcetera?" shrugged Jonatton.

"That's it?" Dan failed to see the appeal.

"It's also a town, and shit? I made quinoa salad," offered Jonatton. "And there's drinks? Pimms, etcetera?"

"Okay... who is this we're meeting?" asked Dan, as the absurd yellow embarrassment-mobile pulled up to the curb outside a well-maintained older home at the end of a small sidestreet. He noticed a small sign beside the front door, which read:

JAGUAR PARKING ONLY

which led him to hope that the Porsche nine-thing-whatever would have its tires flattened and some colourful words spraypainted on the driver's side door by the time the weekend was out.

"They're called Elizabeth and Jeremy," said Jonatton, slinging his overnight bag over his shoulder, and gathering up the cooler bag of weekendy snacks.

"Okay," nodded Dan. "And who exactly are Elizabeth and Jeremy?"

"Oh, well, I've known them... practically my whole life?" shrugged Jonatton, ringing the doorbell.

A blonde woman of about sixty in a nice sundress greeted them, arms crossed.

"Did you choose that outfit specifically because you thought it would make you look extra gay?" she asked, brow furrowed.

Jonatton glanced down nonchalantly at his outfit: somewhat-more-tight-than-necessary striped vest, shorts, extra hair gel.

"No fucking idea what you're talking about," shrugged Jonatton. "Mum, meet Dan Ashcroft. We're in love."


	4. Chapter 4

Mum.

Jonatton had just used the word Mum. Jonatton had just addressed that nice woman in the sundress who stood in the doorway using the word Mum. As in _mother_. The word echoed through Dan's consciousness as he was gripped with a sudden terror: this was no innocent weekend at Henley. This was a surprise parental visit. Dan was in no way prepared for this.

"Jonatton, what - "

Suddenly, and not knowing quite how it happened, Dan found himself tugged into a crushingly warm embrace, smooshed into the woman's cleavage, her tasteful gold necklace no doubt leaving a permanent indentation on his face.

"So wonderful to finally meet you, Dan," she smiled, releasing him from her death grip just before he would have blacked out from oxygen deprivation. "Jon's told me so much about you."

"Oh, God," Dan's stomach lurched.

"Oh, all quite flattering, don't worry, for fuck's sake," she laughed. "Come on upstairs, your dad's just done us a pitcher of Pimms for the evening."

She turned, giving Dan a conspiratorial wink as she went, and the two men followed her up the stairs to the main floor. It was a spacious home – definitely old, but recently redecorated, if Dan's confused assessment was anything to go by. It was warm and full of natural light, hardwood floors, leather, and rich earth tones – the kind of place one expected parent-types to live in, especially if they apparently had quite a comfortable amount of money. It turned out that Jonatton's room was one floor up a spiral staircase surrounded by curved shelves and shelves of books, and one floor above them was Jonatton's parents' room, and above that was the roof. Which had a hot tub, and a small herb garden. It certainly stood in stark contrast with Dan's family home; the flat in Leeds, smaller than Jonatton's and still painted in Seventies Brown. Dan was not quite sure what he had imagined Jonatton's family would be like, but he was quite sure this was not it.

To be honest, he had never been able to imagine Jonatton having a family at all.

But Jonatton had settled in immediately, placing their overnight bags in the guest bedroom and storing their perishable picnic foods in the refrigerator. Dan felt uncomfortably silly, following Jonatton's movements like a useless and stroppy puppy, taking in the environment without appearing to snoop.

Sometimes, Jonatton had a funny way of showing Dan just how much he loved him: that is, if one defined funny as leaving Dan on an ever-diminishing ice floe in waters infested with a herd of ornery walruses, while Jonatton looked on sneeringly from a helicopter above.

This was strange and unfair, thought Dan. Trust Jonatton to take a legitimate relationship milestone and use it as a means to humiliate him. He could have left then, he thought, if it bothered him enough: the train station was just down the road and he could afford to get back to London, quit his job, live on Jones' couch until another job came along, or move back in with Mum and Dad in Leeds. It would not have been so bad. He could have just left, he could have just not put up with it any more, but he wanted, for some insane, masochistic reason, to stay.

"All right, Jon?" came a voice from the kitchen.

Jonatton's father, it turned out, was an affable-looking grey-haired fellow in glasses and a casual pink button-up shirt.

"Dad," said Jonatton. "Brought quinoa salad, etcetera?"

"Is that the one you do with the coriander? Lovely," he said, taking the bowl from his son, then turning his attention to Dan, smiling. "Well, you must be Dan Ashcroft. Fancy a Pimms?"

"Umm, yeah, that'd be great," nodded Dan. "Thanks, Mr. - "

"Just Jez, please," laughed Jonatton's father, patting Dan on the back. "We don't stand on ceremony round here, Dan. Besides, you're family."

"Right, Jez, okay," Dan smiled weakly.

This was surreal. Dan felt as though his grip on reality was unravelling at tremendous speed. Jonatton's parents both seemed so decidedly _normal_. Nice, even.

"Have you met Molly?" asked Jez, handing Dan a glass of fruit-filled booze. By Dan's estimation, it smelled a bit like cough medicine with bits of strawberry and cucumber in. As he took a first sip, he tried to conceal his grimace of disgust with a polite smile, and continued drinking, because hey, free alcohol.

(By Jonatton's estimation, Dan's attempt at a polite smile came across as cutely psychotic. By Jonatton's estimation, this was going to be the greatest regatta in the history of Henley.)

But Dan had not seen Molly. _Molly_. Dan did not remember Jonatton mentioning anything about a relation named Molly. An estranged sister, perhaps? But Jonatton was an only child, surely. An aunt, then, a nan, the next door neighbour?

"Molly, of course, no I haven't," said Dan, desperately searching his memory for any mention Jonatton may have made of who the hell Molly was.

"She's probably been having a lie-down," said Jez. "She's not as rambunctious as before, what with the babies on the way."

So Molly was pregnant. This narrowed her identity down, thought Dan. At least inasmuch as she was probably _not_ a great-auntie. He hoped.

"That's... nice?" hesitated Dan, attempting as best as possible - which was still pretty poorly - to hide behind his Pimms.

"Mhmm," agreed Jez. "She's due to have her litter in, oh, two weeks or so?"

"Molly is my parents' pug," Jonatton whispered in Dan's ear.

Oh, thought Dan, it was the fucking dog all along. And here he thought he had been terribly remiss in forgetting things he had not been told in the first place about Jonatton's family. There was no doubt in Dan's mind that this weekend was going to be endless, funless nightmare.


	5. Chapter 5

There was something disquieting about seeing Jonatton out-of-context: being affectionately embarrassed by a pair of older adults to whom he bore a superficial resemblance, mini scotch eggs and white wine spritzer, having had a life before Sugar Ape. Jonatton had never been especially reticent about his family, but Dan had on some level always envisioned them as some sort of nebulous, mythical _idea_ more than anything else. He certainly had not envisioned a couple with a house in Henley who fell squarely into the Weekend on Sunday's target demographic.

(To be fair, Jonatton had never envisioned introducing _anyone_ to his parents, certainly not big grumbly bear Dan Ashcroft, with his shirt buttons endearingly askew – possibly not the first impression Dan would have wished to make, but it was better, Jonatton reasoned, to surprise him than to have told him who they were meeting, and consequently risk Dan being an idiot, panicking, and running out of a window.)

(Dan was a silly bear about things like that sometimes. Dan was still learning how not to give quite so much of a shit.)

"So," said Jez, "I understand that you two met at work? Jon tells us you're a writer, Dan."

"Yep," nodded Dan, "I do a column, and… things."

"I'm sure it's very interesting work," offered Liz.

Silence fell over the room.

"You should tell them the story of our first date," suggested Jonatton, playfully squeezing Dan's arm. Dan shot Jonatton a look which wordlessly conveyed that he was going to murder him, just as soon as his parents were not looking.

"Yeah," Dan smiled uncomfortably, scrubbing a hand over his beard. "So… about that."

Liz and Jez looked on expectantly.

"Well," continued Dan, "I was writing a feature about, umm, those, you know, working-class family pubs, so I had to, uhh, visit one, and… Jonatton decided to come along?"

"A work outing?" asked Jez.

"Yep," nodded Dan, "more or less. And, you know, we talked, and it turns out we got on, so…"

Dan cleared his throat a few times, staring at his plate of quinoa salad.

"I have to go to the toilet," he said, standing up quickly.

"Oh, just through there," said Liz, pointing him past the kitchen.

"Thanks," he nodded, and left.

It was a nice bathroom, Dan observed as he splashed cold water on his face repeatedly. He was now more certain than ever that Jonatton was out to humiliate him. There was a time, Dan supposed, that he would have dismissed Jonatton as just another float in the idiot parade. This, it turned out, was an unfair assessment. Jonatton was, in actual fact, an evil genius. He had had no idea when he packed up his overnight bag that afternoon that Henley was, in fact, not a pleasant Oxfordshire town; rather, it turned out, it was a hellish nightmare world where everything was even more horrible than being congratulated by idiots for fucking his boyfriend.

Hell, thought Dan, Liz and Jez were very nice people, people who - and he now very sincerely hoped this was the case - did not, thank every fuck in the universe, read Sugar Ape. Somehow he imagined that trying to explain the time he went to a working-class family pub looking to administer a hand-job, even under the guise of journalistic research, and even if the story was (largely) a fabrication, would be a bit of a tricky one to explain himself out of. That being said, had he been feeling a touch more sadistic, he could easily have told them the real story of how their beautiful son got him pathetically pissed and then proceed to sex him up, ostensibly because had thought it was funny. This was a pretty big gamble on Jonatton's part, thought Dan. Hell, Jonatton trusted him enough to bring him to his family home in the first place. They really were riding the Relationship Express past Kissingham, past Fucking-on-sea, straight on to Commitment-on-Thames after all.

Dan wondered if it would ever stop being quite so confusing.

"Well?" Jonatton arched an expectant eyebrow at his parents, grinning playfully. "First impressions, etcetera?"

"He seems nice," ventured Liz. "He's a bit shy, isn't he?"

Jonatton realized his question had been a touch premature; there was not that much information they could glean from half an evening's awkward social activity, admittedly. Still, it seemed a relevant query.

Jonatton nodded. "He's quiet," he shrugged.

"He's certainly the nicest boyfriend you've ever introduced us to," said Jez.

"Is that just because he's the only boyfriend I've ever introduced to you?" sneered Jonatton.

Imagine that, thought Jonatton: Jonatton Yeah? was thirty-two years old, and never liked anyone enough to be better acquainted than fuck buddies, until Dan Ashcroft slumped into his life and gave him a look which unequivocally said "everything we do here is stupid," and maybe he was smarter or maybe he wasn't as phony as all the others, but whatever it was, Jonatton loved the idiot. Go figure.

Jonatton was more nervous than he let on. To say that he would have been devastated if his parents did not like Dan was an overstatement, to be sure, but to say on the other hand that it did not matter was, it turned out, the greater overstatement.

It was then that Dan shuffled back into the room.

"We were just talking about you, pet," said Jonatton.

Oh good, thought Dan. Just when it seemed like the weekend might not be so bad, it threatened once more to veer violently back into nightmare territory.

"Great," Dan smiled unconvincingly. Jonatton nodded to him with a sly wink. Thank goodness, thought Dan, they liked him. This evening was turning out to be an emotional rollercoaster the likes of which even the most volatile of fourteen-year-old girls would find unusually excessive. Best, at least, to steer the conversation toward anything other than himself.

"So," he began, "what, umm, do you... do?"

"Excellent question," said Jez, though the look on Jonatton's face immediately told Dan that it was, in fact, a terrible, terrible question. "What my office does is to work with insurance companies as a kind of..."

It was at this relatively early stage that Dan was already beginning to question whether Jez was still speaking English. He had been expecting a one- or two-word response, something like _architect _or _investment banker_, but clearly, that would have been too easy.

Dan was still desperately trying to process the vast amounts of information he had just been given when Jez finally stopped talking. Dan gave a tentative nod, feigning understanding as best he could, and made what he hoped would at worst sound like an educated guesstimate.

"So you run an insurance company," he ventured.

"Not… exactly," said Jez, with a sympathetic smile. "What we do is to work with insurance companies when they need…"

and he carried on like this for another ten hours or so. Dan strained uncomprehendingly at Jez's ever-increasing paragraphs of ever-increasingly nonsensical language that was ostensibly related in some tangential way to insurance. He thought he could just see Jonatton desperately mouthing what appeared to be the words "risk assessment" from the kitchen island.

"Oh, so you do risk assessment," Dan nodded hesitantly.

"Kind of," said Jez patiently, "but it's more like we consult with clients who need someone to..."

Dan felt a sudden urge to take a running leap from the balcony into the Thames. He glared at Jonatton, who shrugged unhelpfully.

"It's... basically a kind of risk assessment, _Jez_," interrupted Liz. Liz had clearly had this same conversation countless times before. In that moment, Dan decided that Liz was the most radiant and merciful goddess he had ever met. He felt the sudden and nearly uncontrollable urge to reach across the table and kiss her on the mouth, but restrained himself, knowing on some gut level that it would not be the best way to ingratiate himself to his new sort-of in-laws.


	6. Chapter 6

Eventually, many drinks later, all the grown-ups toddled off to their respective bedrooms to rest up for the exciting day ahead of them. Undressed and snuggled down, Jonatton curled himself round Dan and settled in.

"Mmm, guest bedsheets," he murmured, tracing the curve of Dan's torso with the tips of his fingers.

"Yep," agreed Dan. "Night."

Jonatton frowned. This, he supposed, was Dan's way of saying he most definitely did not want to shag. This was disappointing to Jonatton's nethers, to be sure, but more so, this worried him. He supposed that Dan was well within his rights to get into a strop over being surprised with a visit to Jonatton's parents' home, but he thought it had been going well. The fact that Dan was laying there, as unresponsive as a frozen haddock fillet and pretending to fall asleep, was cause for concern.

"But Dan," pouted Jonatton, "guest room sex, etcetera?"

Dan sighed, and turned to face him.

"We can't have... fucking, here, Jonatton," mumbled Dan, shaking his head. "Your parents live here. Their bedroom is directly above us. It's just _weird_."

"Danbo, we _are_ over thirty. I think they know we're having sex?" eyerolled Jonatton.

"Yeah, but I don't think I'm ready to think about your parents knowing that we're having sex," replied Dan.

"Fine," agreed Jonatton. "Three nights, no sex. You want to declare a penis embargo?"

"Night," said Dan.

And with a swift, no-nonsense goodnight kiss, they rolled over, and allowed themselves to be swept off into the land of slumber.

The next morning, Dan stood, bare feet planted on the cool tile floor, squinting into the bathroom mirror and desperately willing his obnoxiously persistent morning erection to soften and leave him alone. Instead, there it stood, proudly and defiantly, as if to say "Hey Ashcroft, you could be putting me to good use if you weren't so chickenshit about it," completely ignoring the fact that he had to piss anyway, and was due shortly at breakfast.

Even Dan's penis seemed to conspire against him.

And so he brushed his teeth. He thought about brushing his teeth. He thought about how these bristles were starting to fray, how he really ought to replace his toothbrush, but probably would defer doing so for at least another month. He thought about how he had to pee. He most certainly did not think about how Jonatton looked - dare he think it - beautiful, all warm and full of sleep. He dared not think about Jonatton's body nestled against him under the admittedly soft blankets, or Jonatton's lips placing two soft kisses in half-slumber against his collarbone. He thought instead about how Jonatton was a poohead with piddle for brains and a sense of humour that was stupid. This was surprisingly unhelpful.

And so he thought about how maybe he ought to shave a bit, try and make a good impression on Mr. and Mrs. Yeah?, though he supposed it was too late for that. So he thought about strawberries and he thought about cream tea and sandwiches and crisps, and he thought about boats and posh drunk people in stupid little hats with stupid feathers poking out of them.

And there it went, he thought. Now he could pee. Now he could get on with his day.

Jonatton was up, sleepy-faced and barely dressed, when Dan emerged from the ensuite.

"Morning, pet," he grinned, wrapping his arms loosely around Dan's neck and leaning in for a morning kiss.

"Morning, you," Dan smiled grudgingly against Jonatton's sleepy lips. It was nice.

Dan knew this was a bad idea, however, when he felt Jonatton's hands venturing downward.

"What do you want?" mumbled Dan.

"Your big cock," said Jonatton, punctuating the last word with a playful boop on the end of Dan's nose.

"Jonatton," sighed Dan, wriggling out of Jonatton's embrace, "I can hear your parents making breakfast. Please just go wash up and get your clothes on."

"Fine," Jonatton rolled his eyes. "You're no fun anymore, Danbo."

"Since when have I been fun?" asked Dan, shrugging on a pair of jeans.

"You're fun," said Jonatton, poutingly adjusting his bedhead and padding dejectedly to the bathroom. "Too bad about the fucking. Are you sure…?"

"Yeah, we still can't fuck," facepalmed Dan.

"I know," pouted Jonatton, "but isn't it pretty to think about?"

Dan nodded.

"Five minutes, etcetera," said Jonatton, closing the bathroom door.

Jonatton rested his head against the tiled shower wall and laughed. It was only fair, he supposed, that Dan would find a way to wind him up. No sex for a weekend, though? It was not as though his head would fall off from such a minor deprivation. There were many nights when they did not have sex, after all: Dan still lived in that weird, noisy squat, and had to spend some nights at home. Besides, it was not as though Dan were the greatest cocksmith ever to exist in the universe either, such that Jonatton could not possibly live without his sexual overtures for an entire regatta weekend; he held his own, to be sure, and sometimes he held Jonatton's too, and Jonatton _had_ always wondered where he had learned to do that thing he did with his mouth sometimes just before Jonatton was about to come, but any withdrawal symptoms Jonatton might have suffered would be negligible at best, he reasoned. As far as wind-ups went, thought Jonatton, this was one he could easily take in stride. It was then that Jonatton decided to skip the perfunctory shower wank he was considering and get into the spirit of the game. Not the abstinence spirit, of course; rather, he positively glowed at the possibility of doing everything in his power to make Dan sexually uncomfortable over the next forty-eight hours or so.

It occurred to him that Dan may have been simply sincerely concerned about being overheard, however. This weekend was a novel and unexpected experience for Dan, and, if Jonatton was honest with himself, it was for him too. Was it sad that this was the first time he had ever felt compelled to invite someone into his family, he wondered? He dismissed the thought: there was nothing wrong with being picky about love. He noticed a grey hair shining with irritating prominence as he lathered his nethers. His tweezers were at home. Well, fuck a duck, etcetera, he thought. He supposed, for the time being, it was moot. Thus, he let the gentle rainfall of the cool shower and the bright bergamot fragrance of the guest shower soap bring him slowly into the waking world, where Dan and Mum and Dad waited, and the weekend had to go well. It would go well. It had to. Coffee would be nice. He could smell the heady, comforting fumes of a dark roast brewing in the press when he emerged refreshed from the ensuite and dragged Dan out onto the balcony for breakfast. Liz and Jez had apparently been up for some time.

"Guess who made waffles," smiled Liz. "Do you like waffles, Dan?"

"Yep, waffles are... good," said Dan.

Endearingly awkward in virtually every social situation, thought Jonatton. Quite hilarious.


End file.
